


Big Girls Don't Cry

by valancyjane74



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Eating Disorders, F/M, Fluff, Herbology, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Millville, Rare Pairings, Romantic Friendship, Self-Esteem Issues, Slytherdor relationship, Sweet Neville Longbottom, Vulnerable Millicent Bullstrode, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valancyjane74/pseuds/valancyjane74
Summary: Overhearing her friends calling her 'Bullfrog' is enough to send one of the biggest bullies in school running away to lick her wounds in private...Only to find comfort and kinship in a defunct Herbology greenhouse... with a boy she used to bully.A Slythedor relationship begins to bloom.
Relationships: Millicent Bulstrode/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 29
Kudos: 36





	Big Girls Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to @dreamsofdramione for her gorgeous cover art.  
> I keep pestering you for more pretties and you never disappoint!  
> Love your beautiful artwork and superb writing so much.  
> Muchas gracias for your generosity and patience, and your boundless creativity.  
> 💚💗💚 VJ

__

_Spring, 1997_

**Hogwarts Castle: Sixth Year.**

_Get outside before they see you crying._

Millicent hurtles up the stairs from the Slytherin dungeons, instinct guiding her along the back steps instead of the main thoroughfare. She is disgusted by the sound of her struggling gasps, and the discordant smacking sounds made by her ungainly feet as she desperately seeks an exit from the castle.

_You can’t run away from yourself for long, big girl._

_Shut up. Just shut up._ Ignoring the sneering voice inside her head, Millicent fumbles at a small, rarely-utilized side door and nearly trips as she finally rams it open with her shoulder.

Eyes wheeling, she briefly takes stock of her surroundings before careening down the hill.

 _No one in sight. Find somewhere to hole up. At least it’s a double free study period. Time enough to cry your eyes raw and slink back in for supper._ Millicent curls back her bow-shaped lips in a humourless grin as she considers that her truancy from class is far less likely to be noticed than her absence from the dinner table.

Pressing an arm to her aching side, Millicent heads for one of the now-defunct small Herbology greenhouses at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They were abandoned some years ago when Madame Pomfrey successfully petitioned and was granted the construction of the bigger, inter-linked glassed nurseries. She fails to notice that the grime on the portal of the most remote little conservatory has been carefully (and recently) wiped clean, as she pushes open the narrow door.

The pervasive gloom of the day doesn’t allow much sunlight to penetrate the transparent roof. Millicent is grateful for the tiny mercy of the murky light, stumbling to a sturdy low bench and huddling down upon it as she releases her pent-up tears. She howls out her hurt, frustration, and loneliness, uncaring that her ugly crying jag is as messy as her mental state, these days.

Rocking back and forth in a self-soothing motion, Millicent relieves the overheard conversation ( _very well, eavesdropped – serves you right for being a great dumb snoop, doesn’t it?_ ) that had sparked her headlong scramble out of the Slytherin dorms.

Pansy Parkinson had been holding court in their common area; Tracey Davis, Daphne Greengrass and Diana Hyde lounging around her. They’d alternated between languidly flicking through fashion magazines and bitching about Millicent.

“Where’s Bullfrog?” Diana had gone for the cheap laugh just as Millicent had been about to step around the deep green velvet curtains that separate the lounge from the bedrooms. “Still off bullying the kitchen for the lunch leftovers?”

“Don’t call her that, Diana. She’s not that fat – and you were happy enough to hide behind her bulk when we last got into it with those Gryffindor bitches.” _At least Pansy had half-heartedly come to my defence,_ Millicent remembers.

“Oh, come off it, Pans! I’m surprised she doesn’t need her robes specially ordered!” Diana had cackled.

“You have to admit, Pansy – the girl eats enough to feed three men,” Tracey had pointed out.

“No, Bullfrog’s on the ‘seafood diet’ – she sees food, she eats it!” Daphne had sunk in the boot.

“At least she makes all of us look bloody awesome by comparison… not that I need the assist,” Diana had sniffed. “Every group should have a DUFF, you know.”

 _Designated Ugly Fat Friend._ Millicent now knows what that acronym means, thanks to Diana’s swift explanation. She hadn’t stuck around to hear her ‘friends’ rip into her any longer, choosing to bolt to this dingy hidey-hole instead.

 _I will always be the negative space in the photograph._ Millicent’s tears dry as suddenly as they began, as the ramifications of her epiphany press upon her like a swarm of angry wasps. _It does no good to starve myself, or binge and purge… or bully the weak to make myself feel stronger. I am as ugly inside as out._ _Even if I managed somehow to halve my body weight – I’ll never be petite, or pretty._

Brown eyes dull, she stares at the dirt floor, momentarily wishing herself buried beneath it.

A low, hesitant male voice startles her into almost falling backward off the bench; she steadies herself and squints into the shaded interior.

“Millicent – it’s just me. Neville. Neville Longbottom… I guess you didn’t see me when you came in, and I didn’t want to disturb you – sorry. I’ll leave you be.” The tall boy starts to shuffle past, his gloved hands full of pots.

“Longbottom?” Millicent scrubs at her swollen eyes, heartsick that someone has witnessed her outpouring of pain. “Didn’t see you here – thought these greenhouses aren’t used, not anymore,” she huskily explains, pleating her dirtied robes around her knees.

“Well… technically I’m not supposed to be here,” Neville admits, with a shy chuckle. “But I figured – what Madam Pomfrey doesn’t know won’t hurt her… and I like to be alone. Just me and my plants.” He makes a funny little sweeping gesture and has to bobble two of the small potted plants in his right hand to keep them from smashing to the ground. “Whoops.”

“Don’t go… I mean, I’ll go. Had no right to come blundering in here,” Millicent surprises herself by saying. Even in the dim light, she notes Neville’s eyes widening.

Before she can stand up, Neville blurts, “You can stay – I don’t mind a little company, now and then. I mean, if you want.” He shrugs diffidently. “There’s light enough for a couple more hours, to see your way back to the castle. Up to you.”

“Alright… if you – if that’s OK.” Truth be told, Millicent isn’t ready to return to the dorms and pretend she didn’t hear her so-called bosom buddies laughing at her behind her back for sport. She wipes the last moisture from her eyes, striving to bring them into focus as Neville busies himself back at the high workbench in the corner.

“You – you like plants, don’t you? Always know the answers in Herbology – sometimes even before Granger.” Millicent doesn’t know why she is initiating conversation: usually the only things she has to say to her classmate are a variety of insults based around his unfortunate surname.

“Love ‘em,” Neville cheerfully agrees. “Always have – there’s something… hopeful, and eternal, about gardening. The miracle of metamorphosis… planting a tiny seed, adding just the right mixture of fertilizer and water and sunlight and warmth… watching it sprout and grow and transform into a beautiful flower, or a pungent herb… or a medicinal ingredient that can save a life. I reckon that has a magic all its own.” He lapses into silence, possibly as stunned as Millicent by the longest speech she’s ever heard him make.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I came in here to fall apart,” Millicent whispers. She doesn’t understand why she is unburdening herself to a boy she has long considered an enemy (albeit a passive one); but she cannot seem to stop the words from leaving her lips.

“I don’t wish to pry, Millicent,” Neville quietly replies. He turns to face her again. She focuses on the argyle pattern on his ubiquitous woollen vest, unable to look him in the eye.

“If – if you’d like to talk about it, I promise I shan’t tell anyone. Sometimes it’s easier to speak your secrets to a stranger,” the lanky Gryffindor offers.

“I heard my friends talking about me behind my back – they were laughing their heads off. Called me ‘Bullfrog’. Diana said… they keep me around to act as the perfect foil to their prettiness.” Millicent cringes, immediately regretting her indiscreet tongue.

“They’re wrong, Millicent. You have a beauty all your own,” Neville shocks her with his steady response.

“You’re laughing at me.” _He must be._ Her dormant, raging self-hatred begins to bubble back to the surface.

“No, I’m not.” Neville risks crouching down before her. He is clutching a single pot, which holds a lone, unprepossessing green shoot. “See this plant? It’s a seedling of the Night-Blooming Cereus… _Epiphyllum oxypetalum_ ,” he murmurs reverently.

“It’s extremely rare, and it only blooms for one night each year… the ‘Queen of the Night’. And when it does, it has the most alluring, special fragrance, and glorious, waxy, white trumpet-shaped flowers… It’s really uncommon and lives in the desert, so I probably haven’t much chance of it flourishing here,” he informs her with a sigh.

‘Anyway – it doesn’t look like much now, does it? But one day, this plant (or ones like her) will become the most beautiful blossom in the world, Millicent. Strong enough to survive the trials of a harsh environment, too. I can see it, even though others don’t.” His kind eyes meet hers; Millicent feels like crying again at the sympathy she sees gleaming from them.

“I don’t look like the other girls – I’ll never be thin, or delicate. I eat too much, even when– even when I try not to,” Millicent confesses.

“Why should you try to look like something you’re not? Or suppress your natural appetite?” Neville asks, seemingly genuinely puzzled. “Roses are all well and good, but personally I prefer cacti – hardy, self-sufficient, and they produce gorgeous flowers, too.”

 _Why is he being so nice to me? I’ve never been anything but nasty to him._ Millicent gulps, mortified and ashamed of her past bullying behaviours. She tries a non-cynical smile on her face: her heart spikes as Neville candidly returns it.

The boy goes back to his plants, leaving Millicent to sit quietly and watch him in a companionable silence.

Lost in her thoughts, she isn’t aware of the passing of time until Neville clears his throat.

“Millicent – it’s getting dark. Would you– would you like me to escort you back to the castle? There are a few hidden roots and rocks on the path that you might not be able to see.”

“I – I’d appreciate that. Yes,” Millicent stands up, hoping her sweaty gallop from the dorms hasn’t left her awfully smelly.

Neville opens the greenhouse door and wordlessly gestures for her to precede him.

Edging past, Millicent holds her breath as Neville bobs his head, only to retract it just as swiftly. “Sorry– I thought I saw a bug – a b-beetle on your f-forehead,” he stammers, stepping back and securing the door once Millicent has cleared it.

 _Oh. Right._ Millicent chides her idiocy in thinking he intended to kiss her. _Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. As if Neville Longbottom feels **that** sorry for me. _

They walk as far as the side door. Millicent is oddly aware of Neville’s slightly superior height, and the distinct definition to his wiry muscles, discernible even in the twilight; he hasn’t bothered to don the robes that hang from his arm.

“Well, we’re back,” he prosaically states, making Millicent giggle at the mundanity of his pronouncement.

_I just giggled. Morgana’s boobs – what’s gotten into me?_

Neville scratches at his nose. “Millicent, I just want to say… I leave that greenhouse unlocked, no one ever uses it except me. You’re welcome to visit, anytime you like, I mean. If you want. Obviously. Heh.” He awkwardly hunches his shoulders and sticks his hands in his pockets.

Hoping her silly blush isn’t evident, Millicent nods vigorously. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, her hand resting on the door handle.

Finally finding her courage, she addresses the gangly adolescent.

“Thank you… Neville. For everything.”

“You’re welcome, Millicent.”

She bolts inside before the boy sees her cry again.

_At least they’re happy tears, this time._

Millicent knuckles the new salty droplets off her cheeks, surprised to discover her lips are stretched in a wide smile.

_I think… I think I made a friend._


End file.
